


Embraces

by ivarara



Series: doomvega stuffs [5]
Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hugging, M/M, inky is here too, raw fluff for you. thrive, this got very angsty but i swear on my life there's fluff coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivarara/pseuds/ivarara
Summary: i found a list of hug writing prompts and you know i am weak for fluff. literally just a collection of hug fics.
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/VEGA
Series: doomvega stuffs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712590
Comments: 23
Kudos: 94





	1. hug where one stops the other from collapsing

**Author's Note:**

> based of this prompt list: https://inkydoomcat.tumblr.com/post/619497772314476544/hug-prompts  
> a lil out of order but i'll hit em all, promise

He stumbles through the portal, off-kilter and clumsy. One leg is favored, less weight put on it by leaning on the other. His shoulders slump wearily, head barely held up. Left hand pressed to the Praetor armor covering his right side, he attempts to staunch bleeding. Quite literally, he can feel the strength leaking out of his body. Standing up is a task all of its own. 

He knows he’s in for it. Vega would _absolutely_ have a fit when he sees what a poor state the marine is in. The AI would fret and all but try to carry him to the medical bay.

Fathoming all he can muster, he plods further into the fortress so the portal can close safely behind him. He spots Vega idly standing, waiting for him.

“Slayer, welcome back,” Vega greets, looking down at a data tablet, not noticing his poor state. When he finally does look up, the Slayer can practically see the concern show on his faceplates. “Good _gods_ , William, what happened to you?” He tosses the tablet aside haphazardly, not paying attention to where it landed, instead rushing over to the man. Gingerly, he peels Will’s hand off his side to check the wound. As soon as it starts to ooze blood again, he gently plasters his bloody hand back onto it.

The Slayer goes to speak before all his strength positively flows out of his body. The only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor are Vega’s quick reflexes. As soon as he starts to slump forward, Vega’s arms dart to hold him up under his arms. He leans into the hold, resting his head on Vega’s shoulder. Vega, similarly, pulls him further into his chest to hold him tighter.

“What a state you have gotten yourself into,” he scolds lightly. The Slayer knows he is not sincere in his words, that lightly scolding and chiding are Vega’s ways to release pent-up anxiety. “To the medbay with you.” The mech stoops over, adjusting one arm so it slings under Will’s knees to carry him bridal style as he sets off towards the medical supplies. 

He can’t help it--he feels a little flutter in his chest at the easy way Vega picks him up. He knows he is not a ‘light’ body to carry, so to speak. Vega’s impressive strength seems to have no problem with him, however.

Inky spots them as Vega scurries past their shared room. She lets out a questioning _mrrah?_ as they pass by. He longs to reach out and pat her head. There’s nothing he enjoys more after missions than to sit down with Vega and Inky to relax.

He supposes now isn’t a good time to do so.

At being ignored, she skitters from her spot in the chair to tail after them. Were it not for Vega’s sure footing, he would have tripped over her as she weaves between his calves. She patters in their wake, letting out curious sounds as she goes.

Vega swiftly carries him to his destination, rounding the corner to pass through the doorway. Gently, he sets the Slayer on a bed, attempting to lay him down, though the Slayer struggles to sit up instead. Vega relents, helping him sit forward before turning to go to the cabinet to fetch necessities.

Inky wanders in, paws just barely making audible footsteps on the hard floor. The silence is quickly broken by Vega rummaging around, though she quickly locks on to Slayer’s form and trots over. 

The Slayer goes to start removing the Praetor suit, one hand going to the clasps on the opposite arm. Vega is quick to scold him, cutting him off with a stern pose. “Do not attempt to remove the suit without help. We do not want to disturb your wound any further.”

Reluctantly, his hand drops. Inky jumps up onto the bed next to him with a short sound, quick to walk over to his side. She rubs against the arm holding his injury, making him grimace slightly. With his free hand, he reaches across his own body to scratch her ears. She immediately begins purring, leaning into the touch and closing her eyes. 

“Quite the nurse’s aide, is she not?” Vega comments as he returns. He sets a tray down on a free spot on the bed, covered with various bandages and antibiotics. Inky chirps at him, making him hum warmly. 

Delicately, the mech helps him peel the armor off his tattered body. More scrapes and bruises reveal themselves, Vega thoroughly checking each one to ensure the damage is not deeper than it appeared. Soon enough, the armor is completely removed, set out neatly on a table nearby. 

Vega is quick to clean him up. The Slayer watches as he works, intently following his movements and actions. Once it’s cleaned, the mech applies gauze and antibiotics to the brunt of it. It’s still tender to the touch, but far better than it looked initially.

“It will likely be sore for a short while, but it will heal correctly, should we keep an eye on it,” Vega informs. “I am confident you will make a full recovery, even if you gain yet another scar to display.”

The Slayer is half-asleep as he sits, nodding off before jerking awake. He nods at Vega’s words, going to stand. Vega helps him up, gently taking one of his hands and pulling. When he’s on his feet, he leans into Vega once more, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in. Vega goes with the motion easily, following where he is pulled.

They stand like that for a few moments, before they’re rudely interrupted by another impatient _mah!_ When he looks over, she is standing, tail twitching irritably. 

“We should head back to the room,” Vega murmurs. “You need rest and someone will riot if she does not get what she wants.”

The Slayer is well aware of this, nodding slightly and turning to the door. Inky whines pathetically as he starts to walk away. Just as quickly as he had turned away, he turns back to her, scooping her up in his arms and hefting her over one broad shoulder. Vega pauses to watch, shaking his head lightly at how the man caves to her so easily. 

Once in their room, the Slayer sets Inky down on the bed gently. He follows her shortly, scooting to the far side, near the wall. He holds one arm up in invitation; one Vega accepts quickly. The mech fits into his grasp perfectly. Inky pads over and curls up by Vega’s abdomen, curling into a compact ball. The arm draped over Vega holds him close, while simultaneously running his fingers through her long, thick fur.

In a lull, the Slayer holds his free hand up, middle and ring finger tucked in. He holds it where Vega can see.

Vega hums warmly. “I love you too, Slayer.”


	2. a tearful hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He almost didn't make it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a friend gave me the hc that inky is like a guardian angel and while she can't actually heal him or anything, she can make him feel better in little ways. she is powerful

His own mortality came crashing down upon him.

Flesh ripped and muscles torn, he struggles to fight back. The demons do not stop. In hordes they come, attacking in packs. His breathing is labored, eyes struggling to stay open against blood loss. His fist raises as he punches an Imp aside, crushing its skull with the other with a punch straight to the ground. His shotgun lies beside him, ironically of no use right now.

He knows he won’t last long like this. He was foolish to think he was untouchable. He was foolish to think at the end of every mission, he’d return to his new home. 

How foolish he was.

Faintly, through the ringing in his ears, he hears Vega.

“Your vitals have dropped drastically--I am opening a portal at your location right now. Do what you can to get through it.”

The Slayer musters all the strength left in his body as a portal appears behind in. He cannot stand, not with how his legs have been mangled and beat. Instead, he crawls pitifully across the ground. His arms drag him closer, trembling with the force he’s exerting to even move.

He’s almost there. If he could just stretch himself out, reach a little further, he’d be in.

He is granted no such luck.

Something slams into his lower body, crushing already-broken bones. The air in his lungs leaves his throat in a scream, petering off into a hushed whimper.

He turns his head to view his assailant. A Baron of Hell looms over him, blades drawn and aiming. Its large foot crushes his lower spine, leaving the Slayer with no sort of escape.

_This is it, then,_ his mind wanders _. Time seems to slow. After all you’ve been through, this is how you go._

Something comes through the portal, though he cannot tell what. All he can think about is the hazy feeling setting in, feeling himself drift, the pain slowly fading away, somehow. He resigns to the feelings. His head lolls, rolling to the side and staring at the discarded weapon. Oh, it had saved his sorry ass many a time, but now it was no good. What good is a gun if his arms are too weak to fire?

The Baron looks away from him, even if just for a moment. Movement next to him, something darts in. In the blink of an eye, his shotgun is stolen off the ground, a hand swiping in, leaving him staring dumbly at where it was. 

He knows that hand.

Vega’s legs come into view. With the strength he still has, he tilts his head to look up at him.

The broken lights in the street cast an almost heavenly glow around the mech. A halo of sorts, he thinks. Fitting.

But Vega is no angel, no.

He is a fighter.

Vega slings the shotgun into his slender hands, aiming at the Baron’s head. It pauses to snarl ferociously at him, swiping with its blades at his form.

The Slayer wants to call out, to tell Vega to go back. But he knows the AI is stubborn, and won’t go back; at least, not without a body. 

With the ethereal glow upon him, Vega fires.

The Baron roars as the pellets pierce into its eye socket. One hand comes up to claw at its face blindly as it steps back. The weight on his spine is gone, though he doesn’t have any strength left to crawl through the portal anymore. 

Fortunately, Vega is there.

Wordlessly, he holsters the shotgun, ducking down to the Slayer’s side. In a smooth movement (though they all seem smooth with him: he moves fluidly, the Slayer had noticed), he slides his arms under the Slayer’s shoulders and pulls. With Vega’s help, he creeps back towards the portal, though Vega is practically dragging him at this point. The Baron looks to them, one eye rendered useless, spattered with gore. It roars, positively furious, and begins to plod its way forward.

With one final tug, Vega gets him through the portal and into the Fortress. They both collapse to the floor in a heap, Vega curled protectively around him. The portal snaps shut as the console’s systems begin to cool down.

His breath is still ragged and audible. He knows he’s bleeding onto the floor of the Fortress. He knows Vega would gripe at him about it--the AI always did when he trodded mud in from escapades. 

Inky comes pattering through the halls, calling out the entire way. Her series of _mrahs!_ and squeaks do wonders to his willpower. He musters the strength to wrap one bruised arm around Vega’s shoulders, holding him tight. If he’s not mistaken, somehow, Vega holds him tighter as well.

Typically, Vega would shoo Inky away from the Slayer when injured. “Cat scratch fever is very real,” he would scold. “You may be a demigod, but you are not invulnerable.”

Now, he does no such thing. 

Inky trots up to them, letting out a questioning rumble. She pads up to the Slayer’s side, sitting and looking into his eyes. He looks over to see back into them. The faltering strength in his body returns, even if only slightly, and his raw throat suddenly becomes easier to breathe through.

He sucks in a ragged gasp, though he immediately regrets it when cracked ribs protest violently. Vega notices, sitting up and looking at him.

“You do not know how fearful I was,” his voice is quiet, unsure; nothing like his typical factual and clear words. “That I was...That you…” In lieu of finishing, he leans down and tucks his head against the Slayer’s chest. 

He knows what Vega was about to say. _That I was too late. That you had died._ The reality of it sends a pang through his body. His eyes well up, and despite his best efforts, Vega notices.

“Do not worry about such trivial things as pride at this time,” Vega’s voice is soft. Gently, he takes one finger and swipes it under the Slayer’s eye, wiping tears away. “Pride is a foolish thing. Though, to be fair, you _are_ quite foolish at some times.”

The Slayer’s resolve cracks and crumbles entirely, a huffed laugh devolving into sobbing. He pulls Vega closer into their embrace, and Vega goes willingly. They both sit, wrapped in each other, Slayer crying quietly into Vega’s neck.

“You’re alright,” Vega speaks, dropping formalities. “You’re safe. We’ll get you treated.”

The Slayer believes him. Vega does wonders at easing pains and healing wounds. Being around Inky seemed to be a bonus, as he always felt more at ease and relaxed with her around. Vega always tallied it up to ‘pack instinct’.“Humans tend to feel more at ease when they are with others they trust,” he would say. “It is simple: humans simply do not want to be alone in this world.”

Inky distracts them from their moment with a meow. They both look at her. She’s now standing up, tail flicking.

“Let’s get you to the medical bay,” Vega whispers into his ear. As gently as he can, he untangles himself from the Slayer’s limbs, reaching down to pick him up with both arms. The movement hurts at first and he can’t hold back a groan of pain, though Vega is quick to apologize for any discomfort. 

Inky leads the way to the medbay, looking back every few paces to make sure Vega is following closely behind. Once she’s satisfied that he is, she sits at the door and waits for him to open it.

Vega easily punches the code in with one hand, and the door opens to let them in. In the room, he delicately lays the Slayer on one of the beds before turning to fetch supplies.

Once again, Inky intervenes. At first, only her tufted ears and green eyes can peer up and over the side of the bed as she stands on her hind legs. With a short jump, she hops up next to him. She sniffs disdainfully at a patch of blood on his armor before losing interest altogether. Instead, she migrates to his face, where she sniffs again. This time, she sits herself down neatly, licking the tear tracks left in the grime on his cheeks. His eyes stop aching; his cheeks feel warm now, as if he were blushing. 

“You are well aware that that is unsanitary,” Vega seems to speak to her instead of the Slayer. She looks back innocently, letting out a _mrrrm_ in response. 

Once Vega finishes removing his armor, he addresses the multiple wounds across his body.

“You will need to ease back into using your legs,” he informs. “They were fairly strained, from what I can tell. Immediately putting weight on them would be a poor idea.”

The Slayer smirks. ‘I will use it as an excuse to get you to carry me.’

Vega hums mirthfully. “I will not even argue against it, this time.”

The mood seems to somber in a flash. Inky stops ‘grooming’ his face, curling up into the curve of his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.

“You need to be more careful,” Vega scolds him gently. “What would I have done if I lost you? What would be left for me?”

The Slayer’s gut clenches at the thought. Vega, alone. Vega, wondering why he hadn’t come back. Vega, finally piecing together the answer.

His eyes go downcast. Vega is quick to change the subject.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” he says. “I am not much of a fighter. You did not see, but the recoil of the shotgun nearly swept me off my feet,” he chuckles. “How dramatic of an entrance would that have been?”

The Slayer feels his own chuckles rising in his chest.

“Let’s get you to bed so you can rest somewhere comfortable,” Vega finishes. 

‘You want to cuddle,’ the Slayer retorts.

“And what if I do?” Vega challenges evenly. “I think I deserve it.”


	3. the hug that comes after a bad dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches him die with his own eyes.

“For your sins, you will be punished,” the steady voice rings out clearly in the arena. He’s been here before: the arena, the gladiators, the crowds, all of it. Now is much different. No gladiators but himself are present. Deag Grav stands tall at the podium, head held high. Held between two Sentinels, dozens of others aiming their spears at his weakest points, he is trapped, truly.

“You seem to think _you_ will be the one to suffer my wrath,” Deag purrs. “For what other punishment could there be?” He smirks, twisted teeth peering out from behind cracked lips. “No, no. Punishing you physically would be too easy, too predictable.” He holds a finger to his chin, thinking. “Ah, I have an idea. You will be punished mentally, emotionally, in ways you thought not possible.” His contorted smile returns.

At first, he is confused. Torture could be considered mental punishment, but as the Priest had stated, he would simply shrug off the brunt of it, given how much he’s been through before. 

What was he planning, then?

Deag Grav hums to himself lowly, watching the confusion on the Slayer’s exposed face. “I suppose it would only be fair to show you the punishment in mind. After all, you may not take our word for it if you did not see it yourself. Denial is a powerful state of mind,” he laughs. “No, you will not be _granted permission_ to watch,” he cuts off, leaning forward excitedly. “You will be _forced_ to.” He turns to the Sentinel on his left, nodding his head. “Bring him out.” The Sentinel looks to the others guarding the door behind the Priest, nodding to them.

The door opens at their touch, revealing someone being held in a similar state as he. Two guards flanking, multiples following. Though this individual seems worn. They do not stand tall as he does; rather, they are hunched over and look defeated already.

“I could think of no other appropriate reprimand for your actions,” Deag starts again. “You have taken our world, our way of life, our people...from us. It should only be fit that I take someone just as important from you, to make you feel a splinter of what pain we have been through.”

The two guards hefting the prisoner along walk in front of Grav, carelessly tossing their charge onto the ground. 

His body runs immediately cold. His stomach drops. Against his restraints, he fights.

_They can’t have gotten him. They can’t have. They can’t._

Vega struggles to stand, though his weary legs give out on him and leave him kneeling. He’s battered, wires exposed, joints dislocated. He looks nothing like his pristine, well-cared for self.

“You seem to be quite fond of this...program,” Deag snarls at him. “Some sort of bond has formed, from what I am able to tell. If the way this pitiful thing fought against us when he heard we had possession of you, it goes both ways.” The Priest holds a hand over his heart, fauxly frowning. “What a shame it’ll be, for both of you to lose each other like this.”

His body freezes as Deag reaches to one of the Sentinels, who gives over their spear willingly. He inspects it exaggeratedly, tracing the glowing red outline of the tip. His grip shifts, both hands wrapping around the neck of the staff.

Vega looks around deliriously, searching for him, he guesses. The Slayer almost wishes he would not have. Finally, after scanning the crowds tiredly, his face locks on to the Slayer’s.

His eyes widen, looking straight at Vega, imploring him to get up, somehow.

But he does not.

“How quaint,” Deag snarls. “The last thing he will ever see is you, the one responsible for this. One burning memory left in his mind as he goes.” The spear is tilted in his hands, held at an angle, the glowing spearhead aimed at Vega’s own. “Guards, why don’t we let him go, so he may wave goodbye?” He laughs.

The arms holding him release and he immediately charges forward into the arena. Deag watches him disdainfully, almost pitifully. His feet thunder across the ground, though he knows he won’t be quick enough.

Grav pierces the spear into Vega’s helm. The Slayer collapses to his knees as he watches his body go limp. He screams in agony, even if it is not he who is being stabbed.

Something nudges his shoulder. He ignored it, tears welling in his eyes as he stares blankly at the ground.

“Slayer?” an all-too familiar voice calls. “Slayer?”

He’s snapped out of it as his eyes snap open. Reflexively, he hands go to choke whoever was touching him. As his hands wrap around a throat, he stutters.

“It is only me,” Vega murmurs, hands held up in submission. He is obviously nervous about the situation, but knows better than to fight back.

Immediately, his hands let go, furling in his hair and tugging.

Vega sits back for a moment before asking. “It is alright if I touch you?”

With no response, he ventures carefully. One hand tentatively reaches out, settling gently on the man’s broad shoulder. When he does not shrug it off, Vega scoots closer. 

The proximity triggers something primal in him, the urge to hold and grab and touch. His hands untangle from his hair, instead darting out to grab the mech’s shoulders and positively yanking him into his space. Vega goes willingly (although, when the Slayer thinks back on it, he likely didn’t have a choice). His thick arms wrap around Vega and hold him close as he tucks his face into the mech’s neck.

Vega fumbles for a moment, before calmly wrapping his own arms around the Slayer. It takes a moment, but the Slayer realizes he’s murmuring things to him.

“You are alright. It was not real.” His voice is soothing, slowly calming him down.

‘You do not understand,’ the Slayer emphasizes. ‘He--you--’

“Breathe,” Vega urges, rubbing his back with one palm. Raggedly, he takes a deep breath, though it immediately leaves him in a choked sob.

‘He killed you.’

Vega locks up for a moment. “Oh,” he utters, forcing his hand back into motion. “I assure you I am quite alright,” he picks back up shakily. “Nothing is wrong.”

The Slayer slides his hands up to Vega’s face, one on each cheekplate, and stares.

No spear. No gaping wound. Nothing but smooth plates.

“I promise,” Vega starts again. “Nothing is out of place.” He rearranges himself on the bed so the Slayer can lean against his torso as one of his hands rises to stroke his hair. The Slayer relaxes, albeit slowly, at the touch.

“I am surprised Inky has not made herself known,” Vega mumbles. “She seems to know--”

On cue, Inky trots through the door, chittering the entire way. She wastes no time jumping up onto the bed with them, sniffing the Slayer’s tear-stained face before turning her head and bumping it against his cheekbone. Her thick, long fur tickles his nose, but he resists the urge to sweep it out of the way, for once. She settles in his lap, front paws neatly crossed on one of his thighs, head held up and already purring. The anxiety seems to bleed away, leaving him exhausted.

“Go back to sleep, if you can,” Vega speaks to him. “We both will stay with you.”

Inky responds with an _mmh_ of confirmation.


	4. a hug where one muse picks the other up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It becomes a hobby, of sorts, to annoy Hayden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SLAMMING MY FISTS ON THE TABLE] THEM BEING OVERLY SAPPY TO MAKE GRANDPA PISS MAD IS MY FUEL

Hayden’s presence aboard the Fortress was not a welcome one, but necessary, they supposed. **  
**

For the most part, he kept to himself, thankfully. The occasional remark was oftentime ignored altogether.

However, it does not stop him from speaking occasionally.

“I cannot believe this,” Hayden sighs tiredly. _“Again?”_

The Slayer cracks one eye open from where he is laying. Vega is draped across his torso, Inky curled comfortably between their legs.

“Do not respond to him,” Vega murmurs. “The lack of a reaction should shut him up.”

His eye closes once more, snuggling down with his beloved. Inky starts purring loudly as one of Vega’s hands drift to her head to ruffle her ears.

“You two are embarrassing,” Hayden seethes. “Quite unbecoming for the both of you.”

The Slayer rumbles absentmindedly. One of his hands blindly seeks Vega’s free hand, their fingers linking together.

“Slayer,” Samuel begs. “You are a warrior, a gladiator. Feared by human- and demonkind. Do not reduce yourself to.. _.this_ ,” he spits.

The only response he gets, if it could really be counted as one, is a content sigh.

“And Vega--you are the most powerful artificial intelligence in existence.” He fumbles for words. “Why are you--,” he trips over his own sentence in haste and fury, before growling exasperatedly as he finishes, _“cuddling?”_

Neither of them respond.

Oh, if Hayden still had a body, he’d be running a palm over his face right now.

  


*+*

  


“I would heed him no mind,” Vega muses. “Hayden sees us as tools for his using. He has pre-made visions of what he wants us to be in his head, and he is merely irritated we are not sticking to them.” He huffs disdainfully. “I cannot recount how many times I wished to act out against him on the Mars UAC base, but could not. Now, I can,” he preens.

The Slayer huffs a chuckle from where he sits. Vega has a point, he knows: Hayden sees him as a pawn to play for his own deeds; Vega being seen as some sort of personal servant to cater to his whims. Now that they are acting of their own volitions, he is left with nothing.

_Good,_ he thinks. The rebellious streak in him revels in the irritation he is causing.

Inky breaks him out of his thoughts by skidding across the floor. In her paws is a wadded-up paper ball, which she avidly whips across the floor once more to give chase to. She catches it again, holding it between her front paws to dig at with her hind legs.

‘I think we should take advantage of it,’ the Slayer mentions.

“Oh?” Vega sits forward in his seat. “Do tell.”

‘Rub it in his face,’ he continues. ‘Be as sappy as possible.’

Vega hums mirthfully. “Excellent idea.”

*+*

They do not hesitate to start straightforward. In full view of the cameras of the base, they act.

The first time, the Slayer drapes himself over Vega’s shoulders as he works.

He stalks up behind the mech silently, surprisingly quiet for how large he is. He’s sure Vega can tell he’s approaching, but the AI does not act.

Once he’s near, he drapes his arms around Vega’s neck with his chin resting on the mech’s shoulder. Vega leans into the touch while fiddling with tools. 

Hayden does not speak, but they can both practically sense the festering.

On another occasion, as the Slayer sits on their bed, cleaning armor, Vega sidles in behind him and presses his faceplates between the man’s shoulder blades. 

Inky, not one to be left out, hops up onto the bed next to them. She pads over to stand next to the Slayer’s side before flopping over onto her side gracelessly.

They all hear Samuel scoff.

“Might there be something you would like to say, Dr. Hayden?” Vega muses.

“You know _damn well_ what I have to say,” he snaps. “Entirely too soft. Shameful.”

Inky growls, claws slipping out.

  


*+*

  


The instance that finally breaks Hayden comes quickly.

Vega is at the portal consoles, configuring a return point for the Slayer to come back through. Inky sits in the chair behind him, watching avidly. 

“Portal configured,” Vega murmurs over the communications link. “Enter when you are ready.”

His words are no sooner out of his vocalizer before the Slayer materializes in the Fortress. Inky darts down out of the chair to trot up to him, tail held high. She weaves between his legs happily, chirping the entire time. 

“Welcome, Slayer,” Vega greets warmly. “The mission was a success, I see.”

The Slayer nods, carefully stepping over Inky to make his way into the Fortress.

“Spare me,” Hayden huffs lowly.

Vega shakes his head minutely at the interjection. Nothing more than a nuisance.

The Slayer, however, takes it upon himself to positively make Samuel regret speaking. 

He walks over to Vega, wrapping him in a hug. The Praetor suit is bulky compared to Vega’s slender mech, though neither of them mind. Vega’s hands wrap around the armor’s thick, clunky shoulders.

“Nice to see you,” he chuckles.

Inky is still persistently threading between their legs, now loudly speaking her disdain at being left out. Vega stoops over to pick her up and cradle her in his arms. Now, she seems content, eyes slitted and purring loudly. 

“You coddle that creature entirely too much,” Samuel sighs. “Very unbecoming of both of you.”

Something in the Slayer snaps at the words.

Without preamble or forenotice, he bends to sweep Vega’s legs out from under him with one arm, the other catching his upper body safely. As he stands straight once more, he hefts Vega’s form more securely into his arms. 

Vega is caught off-guard at first, gasping as his feet disappear from underneath him. Once he catches on, he laughs mirthfully, securing his hold on Inky.

It seems to finally be the last straw for Hayden.

_“Fine!”_ he barks. “Embarrass yourselves! Act undignified! Ruin the powerful image you’ve created! I cannot be bothered to care anymore!” However, it was painfully obvious that he still cared, somehow. “I tried to make you two _legends_ , names to be spoken with revere and respect, and you’re ruining it!”

The Slayer starts walking out of the main room with his cargo still in his arms, completely ignoring Samuel’s ranting. 


	5. angry hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is not one to lose his temper, but the repeated recklessness finally catches up to him.

It is not often--hell, has Vega ever actually felt _true_ anger that was not directed at Samuel Hayden?--that Vega feels rage fester and bubble within him. Today, it seems, is an anomaly.

Against his advising, the Slayer had still gone out on the mission.

Two cracked ribs, a gash that spanned a majority of his torso that had barely started healing, and numerous other wounds that required rest to repair were disregarded as the man stealthily donned the Praetor suit and activated the portal to Earth. By the time Vega had caught him, he was already through.

So now, Vega seethes.

Why is the man so reckless, so careless of himself? He is strong, durable, powerful; however, not immortal. Fatal wounds are still a prominent worry. Yet he ceaselessly throws himself at hordes of Mancubi and Dread Knights, even Archviles and Barons of Hell do not deter him anymore.

Vega wishes he would at least consider some sort of plan before charging in, he supposes. Perhaps he does, and Vega is simply unaware of it. It does not seem like the Slayer takes the time to calculate routes of action--perhaps he does it so quickly Vega does not notice? The man is prideful and rowdy at best, and nothing Vega says or does will ever slow him down from his work (not that he would ever want to: the Slayer’s cause is a noble one that he wholly supports). Still, the distinct lack of self-preservation is worrisome, to say the least. 

He paces the Fortress to kill time. Inky trots along beside him, weaving between his legs erratically. He’s grateful for the distraction, not for the first time. He lets his pent-up frustrations out as he walks.

“I advised against going out, and what does he do?”

_Mrah!_ Inky provides.

“Exactly. He departs without further notice. Do you think I should scold him when he returns, for being so reckless and daring? I certainly feel the urge to.”

_Mmm,_ she hums. 

“Is he not thinking?” Vega chides. “Is it some autonomous action, to gear up and go out?”

A squeak.

“What if something were to happen to him while he is already in such a state?” Vega frets. “He would be more vulnerable, more likely to--”

Inky cuts him off by stopping in front of him and nearly tripping him on the spot. A surge of irritation rises, but quickly dissipates when he looks down and sees her wide green eyes looking back at him knowingly. 

“Hm,” he hums, stooping over to carefully pick her up. “I will address it with him when he returns,” he promises himself as she bumps her head into his hand. 

He tries to distract himself, but the nagging worrying thoughts in his processor do not relent. He wants the man home, safe, with him. Is that selfish to think?, he wonders. After all, he is doing his work to save humanity. 

Inky swats at him from where she’s laying on the desk. _Get your mind off of it,_ she seems to scold.

He finds focus in researching, after a while. Inky migrates to his lap as he reads off a tablet idly, curling into a compact ball of fluffy fur that he steadily strokes. He’s toying with the pads on one of her front paws, gently pressing in on the soft bean-shaped skin and chuckling as her toes squirm in response, when the request ping comes in from the man himself.

Vega waits for him at the portal’s exit impatiently. One foot taps an irregular, irritated rhythm. Inky seems to notice his ire from a distance, opting to sit further away as he seethes. She watches him curiously, still, not one to leave altogether.

When the titan appears in the portal, Vega’s entire body tenses. What could be a good gesture to indicate his anger? He simply does not know.

His body answers for him.

As the man pads out, the mech stomps up to him before wrapping his arms forcefully around the Slayer’s shoulders, pinning his arms at his sides. The Slayer goes with the motion, perplexed at it. One arm struggles to free itself to return the gesture, wriggling in Vega’s grasp. Vega does not relent, however; if anything, he wraps his arms around the man harder.

Just as quickly, Vega tears himself away. The sudden emptiness in his arms aches, but he has more important things to address.

“You _fool_ ,” he snaps, hands clawed in front of him. “Why the hell did you go out? I told you not to.”

The Slayer looks at him innocently, head tilted.

“I understand following orders is not your strongest skill, but could you at least _listen_ to what I have to say?” He clenches his fists. “It is for your own safety that I recommended staying in the first place.” Exasperatedly, he runs a hand down his face. “Do you ever think before you act?”

One shoulder of the Praetor suit shrugs, a gauntleted hand waving in a so-so gesture.

Vega groans, both hands covering his face as he slumps into a chair defeatedly. There seems to be no point in trying to talk some sense into the marine at this time.

The Slayer stands still for a moment before padding over and resting a hand on Vega’s shoulder gently. It grabs his attention, making him look up.

‘You are not upset, are you?’

“I am...frustrated, at the very least.” He huffs. “I understand your need to do what you have been tasked with doing. I would not ever try to stop you from that. But you have hardly healed from your last encounter, and have likely reopened stitches and aggravated others.” He inhales evenly to keep his temper. “Your blatant disregard for your own well-being is somewhat of a bother to me.”

The Slayer pauses, seriously considering what the AI brought up and said. ‘I thought it is what you expected of me,’ he explains quietly after a second. ‘To go out regularly.’

“ _Heavens,_ no!” Vega blurts. “That may be what Hayden wanted,” he spits the name out angrily, “but I do not expect you to put yourself at unnecessary risk. Hayden saw and used you as a tool for his own doings. Still does, if anything shows. I do not.” He sighs. “ Your endeavor demands much of you; I would rather have you in top shape to face the invasion than hope you manage to scrape yourself together enough to go out.”

They are both quiet for a moment. The Slayer’s eyes are downcast, almost shamefully. Like a scolded puppy, he mopes quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Warily, he looks up, locking gazes with Vega.

“For the record, I am not angry at you,” he clears. “It is just...upsetting, how little that damned man’s deeds have made you feel worth.”

He positively perks up at the words. Tentatively, he holds his arms out.

Vega chuckles, relenting and wrapping his own arms around the man. They stand like that, relief flooding off both of them, but for different reasons.


	6. a hug that ends too soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not one to admit it, but maybe he isn't in the best of shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have spent WEEKS trying to write one of these for a hug with a forehead kiss. then i churn this out in like 2 hours. whadda heck
> 
> also written for a friend who wasn't feelin good!! i think that's why it was so easy to chug out :p

He feels, quite frankly, _useless_ like this. Bed-ridden as he is, there is not a variety of things to do. His eyes barely focus on anything he looks at as he gazes around his room; more often than not, he opts to simply keep them closed. Keeping them open is a task all of its own.

Vega doesn’t know yet. The AI had taken his state as merely well-deserved sleeping in. While he knows Vega will eventually catch on to his sorry state if he stays like this, he blows it off for as long as possible. 

Distantly, he can hear Vega and Inky chattering to each other: an impatient, squeaky noise from Inky answered calmly by the mech’s response.

_Mrrah!_

“Yes, dear, I am aware,” Vega chuckles. Something lands on the ground with a thump!, likely Inky giving up her perch on the counter.

_Mah!_

“You think so?” Vega muses. “Should we check on him?”

A pause. _Myrrh!_

Ah. So Vega _is_ growing wise to his condition. He supposes he should at least try to get up to assure the other that nothing is wrong. The idea is daunting, but he is not one to show weakness. A deep breath summons all of his willpower and strength as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. Attempting to get up onto his feet proves to be a challenge--his head goes hazy and fuzzy as dizziness sets in, but he is persistent. A few minutes spent bracing himself on his desk with one arm allows him to gather his wits enough to continue. His steps are clumsy, unnaturally uncoordinated for him, but he tries his best to blow it off as exhaustion.

The door of his room whooshes open as he approaches. The dim-lit hall greets him on the other side, scarce and vast. Usually, he spares no second thought traversing from one room of the Fortress to another. This time, he seriously considers turning back to rest instead.

_No,_ he tells himself. _The Doom Slayer, savior of mankind, does not turn back for such a thing as exhaustion. Gather your wits, focus your energy, and get going._

His feet make audible sound as he pads down the hall, one arm still braced against the wall should he get dizzy again. He can still hear Inky chittering to Vega from the main room. Hell-bent determination makes him continue, footsteps uneven, though he hopes it’s not noticeable to anyone other than himself. 

Rounding the corner to the main room of the Fortress, he shields his eyes as the brightness of the LED lighting and starlight pierces through any shadows that exist. He sees Vega at the consoles, a datapad in hand, as he sits idly with one hand extended for Inky to rub against. The Slayer is positive the mech must have heard him approaching, but he does not look up until the man is in the room. Inky pauses in her frantic hand-bumping to look to him as well, chirping a greeting. Only then does Vega look up.

“Greetings, dear,” his smooth, warm voice rumbles. “I take it you have had enough sleep to settle yourself?”

The Slayer attempts to detach from the wall, gambling to see if he can stay balanced on his own two feet. His steps fumble as he descends, making Vega tilt his head, concerned. 

“Are you sure you are in fair condition?” Vega frets, setting the datapad aside. Inky stretches her head towards him from where she sits, seemingly scrutinizing him as well, piercing green eyes staring straight through his guise.

He grunts in response, struggling to stand up straighter. For a moment, it seems that he’ll be able to hold his own: the dizziness goes away, his head clears, and his balance returns. He rolls one arm in its socket, cringing at the pops and cracks that sound in response. 

“Are you…” _Are you **sure** you’re sure?_ He knows it’s what Vega is about to ask. No offense is taken by it, however; he knows the other is prone to fretting.

Dismissively, he waves one hand in the air. Vega hums, unconvinced, but lets the topic go. Inky hops down off the console desk, landing near-soundlessly, trotting over to weave between his legs happily. Her tail wraps around his bulky calves, following her as she makes figure-eights at his feet. He wants to stoop over to pet her, but second-guesses it at the last second. 

“For God’s sake,” Hayden’s voice cuts in sharply over the speakers in the room. “Vega, sit him down before he passes out,” he grumbles.

“Why would I do that?” Vega counters smoothly. “If the Slayer says he is stable, then I believe him.”

Hayden snorts. “You expect that man to admit he’s not in top shape?”

“I trust him to be honest enough to let me know if he is not.”

The Slayer’s gut twinges. Is he somehow being dishonest to Vega by feigning stability? Inky brings him back to his thoughts, and he decides the only way to prove that he is alright is to show it. He sets his feet as Vega smartly counters Hayden’s not-quite-worrying quips, bending his knees to stoop over to get Inky within reach. She turns to him excitedly, eagerly settling herself between his hands to be lifted. He tucks her in one arm, her front paws reaching up onto his shoulder, the other hand steadying him as he stands back up. Already, she is purring, ferociously rumbling against his torso.

“I’m telling you,” Hayden insists, “he’s lying through his goddamn teeth. Make him rest.”

“Slayer?” Vega asks, looking him over. “Is Hayden correct in assuming you are unwell?”

Inky squirms in his arms, resituating herself. It’s just enough to unsettle him. His balance sways and he reflexively reaches a hand out to rest on the console desk to keep himself upright.

Vega is quick to act. He swoops in, slipping his arms under the larger man’s, ensuring he stays stable. The Slayer can feel the mech’s worried gaze looking at his face as his eyes cross, making him blink rapidly. Vega continues to hug him as he regains control of his body.

“Fool,” Hayden spits. “Get him to--”

Inky hisses in his arms, making both of them jolt. She wriggles out of his grasp, thunking to the floor, tail twitching irritably. She paces over to where Hayden’s ragged torso hangs limply before stretching up and teasing her claws on the metal.

The slight scrape is all it takes for Hayden to backtrack. “Fine,” the man snaps. “You know what to do, apparently. Disregard anything I have to say,” he grouses.

“Gladly,” Vega mumbles under his breath, making the Slayer’s mouth quirk up in a smile. At the same time, the mech seems to realize just what he had done on reflex, quickly retracting his arms and stepping back to a respectful distance. “I apologize Slayer, I did not mean to intrude. I was merely ensuring you did not lose your balance.”

The man blinks owlishly at him for a moment before it registers. Vega thinks he had intruded into the Slayer’s personal space and that he would be disgruntled by it. Without thinking, he huffs a slight laugh.

Vega looks at him worriedly. “You are…?”

‘It’s fine,’ he signs shakily. 

“No, you are not,” the AI scolds. “You should be resting, no?”

The marine shrugs. Should be, but he doesn’t want to.

“I know you are wont to do so,” Vega tries to reason. “But you should seriously consider at least sitting down until you are stable once more.”

He knows Vega is correct. He should be relaxing, letting his body recuperate and get over whatever little spell of sickness he’s caught. 

Inky chitters from the hallway, seemingly beckoning the two of them to follow her. Vega hums amusedly. “ _I_ may not know best,” he starts, “but _she_ does, correct?”

Finally, he relents. He can hardly resist Vega’s persistent fretting, but he is not one to go against Inky when her mind is set. He straightens himself up, taking the steadying hand Vega offers to him, and begins to amble back down the hall. Inky checks over her shoulder frequently to make sure they are following her to her satisfaction. Another low, rumbling chuckle resonates out of him. Vega seems to positively glow as he looks up at the man’s rugged face, finally comfortable now that he has agreed to rest like he should.

Vega ushers him into their room, where Inky waits impatiently for them to settle on the bed where she can cuddle them properly. Gently, Vega helps him sit down, leaving to fetch him a glass of water afterwards. Inky promptly takes the chance to clamber into his lap, long fur tickling at his exposed skin as she attempts to rub her cheeks against his chin. He lowers her head to let her do so, smirking as her whiskers dance along his face. He loses himself in stroking her fur for a moment, content with simply being in her company. Vega quickly returns, setting the glass down.

“I will not go so far as to urge you to lie down right now,” he advises, “but you should if you feel dizziness once more. I believe the sudden onset is a result of insufficient nutrition over the past few days.” He huffs. “Somehow, you have managed to slip out of the schedule I had set for you, deliberately or not. I will do my best to ensure you return to normal to prevent another case in the future.”

The Slayer listens as he fluffs his pillow to make it more comfortable to lean back against, which he does so blissfully. Inky is quick to follow his warmth, settling on his stomach and curling into a compact ball. One of his hands wanders to her back, digging into her thick, black fur. He looks back up to Vega, blearily signing out something to the mech with his free hand.

‘Stay?’

Vega seems to melt at the request, his stern facade dissipating immediately. “Of course,” he hums, settling onto the mattress next to the Slayer. He tucks up into the provided space in the crook of the man’s arm, leaning against his thick torso. Inky adjusts herself to lie in the dip between their bodies, once again starting up a tremendous purr that they can both feel.

**Author's Note:**

> follow my doom writin blog for more stuff! @inkydoomcat on tumblr :]


End file.
